


Devotion

by Ozma



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascian, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being partners for millennia, they’ve experienced almost everything.</p><p>Short Lahabrea and Igeyorhm snippets in no order. Updated sporadically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> For prompt: _The relationship dynamics of a pair bonded for millennia._
> 
> This is just a tiny little fill for my own prompt, since it seems very few enjoy writing Ascians.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Igeyorhm deals with Lahabrea's 2.0 fallout; pre-2.1.

Seething with all the petulant impatience of a willful child, he paces.

Igeyorhm impassively observes as heavy footfall rhythmically echoes through nothingness; with each step the embers of Lahabrea’s satisfaction crumble from ash to dust.  Even so long after his failure, he stubbornly rejects his irresponsibility in anger.

 _A fluke,_ the memory of Lahabrea’s rage, all-encompassing and silent, of the type borne so deeply that it eclipses rationality, blooms anew. _Unprecedented._

When he calms he will cease his unreasonable denial, she knows, Igeyorhm must simply weather the storm as Lahabrea accepts his folly.  Disappointed as she is at his failure, he is all the moreso, his mistake a corroding acid that wears away his will.

This should never have happened, he should never have toyed with the mortals – regardless, Igeyorhm cannot stand to watch Lahabrea tear himself apart.  She will see to it that he rediscovers his purpose.

Her touch on his forearm gives him pause.

“The mortals yet present ample opportunity.”  She tightens her grasp as his jaw clenches. “Hydaelyn’s servants continue to jump at shadows in their desperate bid to protect Her.”

“We have waited long enough; I’m not content to dally as the servants of Light do as they please.” Through grit teeth he snaps thoughtlessly, so inebriated in self-pity that he fails to heed her true proposal.

She disregards his obstinacy. “The Gifted mortals need not be our enemies.”

There is still benefit to be gained from their ignorance.

Igeyorhm stills, exhibiting the patience Lahabrea will not as his mind churns around her words, barely obscuring his cyclic emotions - annoyance rises first, then anger, before the clench of his jaw finally loosens and understanding dawns.

“Then we shall reward their devotion.” Palpable anticipation embraces him, writhing within, warping the kindling she offers; his fulfillment is a thing of beauty as it dances between them, inciting mutual passion.

Best allow him to believe he conceived the idea on his own.

Placated though Lahabrea may be, the Bringer of Light's success continues to nag, denying him the ability to return purely to his responsibilities. The sweetening of his temperament is temporary; it will sour soon enough.

She allows her touch to drop, grasping his larger hand between hers. “Leave the task to your servants.”  Lahabrea will later regret it if he indulges in desires that distract him from his duty, no matter his wishes at present. "Your efforts are best focused elsewhere."

His response is immediate and unexpected; he grasps her wrist and pulls her close, letting his irritation at her meddling be known. Predictable in his utmost unpredictability, Lahabrea lacks delicate intimacy even as they share breath and gaze.  As he looks he does not see; his mind races as he plans and Igeyorhm fears that her suggestion births a monstrosity - that Lahabrea's claws tear into her words as a beast its prey, searching for innards that were always absent.  Lahabrea will not be so easily distracted from his quarry.

He continues his stifling observation in silence, before finalizing his decision. His arm deliberately slithers around her waist; lazy and with directed intention, he twines thin strands of her dark hair around his fingers – neither bored nor distracted as he appears, Lahabrea gifts his wordless apologies.

“Indeed.” He smooths the harshness from his words, his musing a satisfied purr rather than its earlier hiss. “We need not aid the false Goddess in Her martyrdom."  Resolve salves Lahabrea's wounded pride; released from his anger, he works fervently, delving into depths well beyond Igeyorhm’s influence and intentions.  "Hydaeyn's servants - their Echo - will suffice." 

He needs not ask if she will aid him. Igeyorhm simply prays that, if nothing else, he shows moderation.

“Soon.” Lahabrea promises, resolute, as the tips of cool metal trail over her lips. “I’ll not fail again.”  
  
She knows it to be the truth.


	2. Attachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lahabrea makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely Zahira's fault.

Igeyorhm knows what Lahabrea expects of her in the coming suns – and he knows that she knows. Lahabrea revels all the same and words spill from his lips in animated satisfaction as he overlooks the still city far below, its streets deadly silent in a premonition for what is soon to come.

And why shouldn’t he be pleased?  This is his victory.

A flash of movement draws Igeyorhm’s attention; she tenses instinctively, ready to eliminate the intruder at a moment’s notice. “Laha-“

His name dies on her lips as she recognizes the uninvited guest for what it is: a lone kitten that leisurely strolls about the clifftop as if ‘tis more than thrice its size.

The young beast stalks Lahabrea from behind, curiously able to sense him even when mortals cannot. It pays Igeyorhm little heed and passes her with barely more than a haughty sideways glance, its focus already on its unsuspecting prey.

Lahabrea continues his explanation, unaware of the new presence, its the tug on the hem of his robes as insignificant as a gentle breeze. Without so much as a struggle, the kitten’s tiny, sharp claws pierce dark fabric, clinging tightly, intent on maiming and tearing his robes as if they are flesh, to unfortunate little result beyond rendering its paws inert.

Such an endearingly foolish little beast.

“Lahabrea.”  She interrupts; even if it sours his mood, Lahabrea must not be so overconfident to ignore his surroundings while in hostile territory, even if such a small creature’s capabilities are limited.

“Are you displeased?” Expectedly, he misinterprets her.

“How could I be?” She dismisses his worries; no words can explain the depths of her satisfaction. She instead offers Lahabrea a smile as she alerts him to the nuisance at his feet with a wave of her hand.

He falls silent for the first time since their arrival, an annoyed grunt his only response as he stares in what Igeyorhm interprets as befuddlement. Lahabrea regains his composure as rapidly as he loses it and dislocates the small feline with a light shove.

He returns to Igeyorhm’s side, taking her hand in his.

“Come, let us –“ Completely ignoring Lahabrea’s irritation, the kitten stays on his heels and all but nuzzles his boot; its soft, satisfied sounds do nothing to pacify Lahabrea, as they might a mortal.

“It seems to have taken a liking to you.”

 He scowls at her amusement. “Hydaelyn’s creatures make mockery of us, even in our moment of victory.”

Igeyorhm is quite certain Hydaelyn had no part in this, but leaves well enough alone.

Lahabrea hisses and again pushes the kitten away with his foot, but the determined beast shows no care for his disdain and immediately returns to its place; without hesitation, it again attempts to climb his boot so that it can seep its claws deeply into his trousers.

 What a willful, stubborn predator.

‘Tis no surprise they get on so well.


	3. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nabriales makes an unexpected discovery about Igeyorhm and Lahabrea, circa 2.3.

On an empty bench he finds it, in the farthest depths of Hustings Strip where few bother to venture - a seemingly abandoned box of smooth, dark wood, held together by a perfect bow tied with deep violet ribbon.

 _The Ul’Dahn Weaver’s Guild,_ written in elegant, practiced calligraphy, is the only return address.

The delivery notice lists no recipient, yet Nabriales is certain he saw one of his kind with the unknown object in hand.

Curiosity quickly gets the better of him and his fingers move to unravel the small ribbon.

“Please refrain from handling my master’s package. I must deliver it without delay.” An unwelcome voice stops Nabriales before he can even properly begin.

So ‘tis Lahabrea’s.

_Excellent._

“You needn’t trouble yourself, you’ve other duties to attend to.” Fortune could not favor Nabriales more greatly; whatever Lahabrea has in this box, ‘tis certain to be of some value to him.  “I’ll deliver the box and tell your master I received it from – ah. . .?” Nabriales hesitates, unsure which title the lesser bears. All of Lahabrea’s servants behave identically and Nabriales does not care enough to distinguish them.

“Sword - and these _are_ my duties.” Sword displays dry, unamused wariness, very much akin to the master he so devotedly serves, and Nabriales tolerates enough of _that_ from Lahabrea himself. He needs not suffer it from his servants as well.

He refuses to allow Sword near the box.

“I cannot –“  Abashed, Sword is unused to defiance, even from a superior.

Indeed, so very like Lahabrea. 

Nabriales cannot but enjoy this, the prickle of the Lesser’s shoulders and the irritation in his tone makes prolonging the encounter more than tolerable.

“You needn’t worry.” Nabriales dismisses him with a flick of his wrist. “I wouldn’t dream of showing _anything_ but the utmost care to Lahabrea’s belongings.”

Nabriales ignores further qualms and withdraws with utmost haste, wooden box in hand, so that he needn’t suffer more of Lahabrea’s servant. He fades into the shadows, leaving no trail for Sword to follow, his destination a close, silent fountain, near enough that Sword will not think to search for him there.  

Certainly, no object from a mortal Weaver warrants such secrecy – that Lahabrea acts with caution only confirms the importance of the box’s contents and, by possessing it, Nabriales is certain to gain an advantage in future negotiations.

Nabriales very much feels like humming as he eagerly places the deceptively plain box on the fountain’s ledge. He fingers the dark wood as he looses the violet bow – by the intricate embroidery on its edges, the ribbon alone is worth more than the average Eorzean -  and leaves it to rest on the ledge.

Nabriales’ suspicions prove correct as he lifts the lid, a rich red velveteen acting as a layer of buffer for the contents.  He peels it back and, for the first time in as long as he remembers, words fail Nabriales entirely.

‘Tis barely anything at all.

All that rests on the velveteen is a tiny slip of fabric that seems to be intended to be used as undergarments. Even with gloves, Nabriales recognizes the item is made of a soft, incredibly smooth lavender cloth – the modern name of the silk eludes him – its sides held together only by two strings, intended to rest on the wearer’s hips, attached to ornate buttons meticulously crafted in the shape of a snowflake.  Whether ‘tis the material or some enchantment, the garments – if they can even be called such - seem to enhance the flow of aether, a simple touch eliciting an excited vibration that courses through him.

There is only one purpose for which Lahabrea would obtain such an item – and only one individual the undergarments can to belong to.

To wear such a thing, even if only for her partner - perhaps Igeyorhm is not so uptight as she feigns.

Those two - playing at a distant professionalism that does not so much as fool the blind; he will not subject himself to that. Nabriales would sooner leave them to their ridiculous antics, if their methods did not so thoroughly agree with his.

Though, now that he knows of the secret, seductive garments Igeyorhm hides under her robes, he doubts he will ever look at her the same way.

Nabriales chuckles as he places the undergarments back onto the velvet, only belatedly noticing the small slip of parchment resting against the side of the box.

_At no additional cost, our Guild took liberties to ensure the pair matches to your satisfaction . . ._

Pointless frivolities, and yet –

He lifts the remaining velveteen, lips tilting in anticipation.

The letter speaks true, below the velveteen lies another pair – larger, thicker, and very much designed to be worn by a male.

His smile  broadens as he removes them from the box.

The undergarments are made of the same lavender material; along the hem of the garments are perfectly embroidered snowflakes, clearly intended to match the buttons attached to Igeyorhm’s strings. More importantly –

An oversized snowflake decorates over the front, as if to emphasize the wearer’s form.

These are _Lahabrea’s._

‘Tis the most absurd thing Nabriales has ever seen and uncontrolled laughter echoes through the empty passages, until his throat dries and his chest burns and he is certain he will dissipate back to the aetherial realm.

By the time Nabriales reigns in his amusement, rationality replaces mockery. This is leverage, a tool that will ascertain Lahabrea does not continue to leave him with the mundane duty of overseeing his mortal project while he sees to his own goals.

With utmost care, Nabriales returns the items to the place and reseals the box, unable to hold back his grin.

He has a delivery to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While going through in-game model data, we learned that Lahabrea and Igeyorhm have matching lingerie/panties in the 2.0 epilogue CS. None of the other Ascians have it, it was specifically added to these two.
> 
> So the essence of this fic is actually canon!


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-3.0. After so long working separately, they are finally reunited in their duties at a familiar ruin in the Churning Mists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the game's files, there exists an unused, hood down model for Lahabrea in Heavensward with lovely long blond hair. Said hairstyle also has a tiny braid behind his ear. . .

Even after millennia untouched, the broken remnants at his feet remain as immutable as mortal nature; that this locale has been spared the ravages of Calamity and time both can only be a quirk in Fate.

Mallow-scented winds blow Igeyorhm’s hair from its place, the flowing waves of blue a more suitable distraction than the lost remnants of an age that met its end from arrogant folly.

It was undeniably Igeyorhm’s victory, then – but this time ‘twill be shared; the roots of chaos have long since taken hold in this land, the fruits of her toils fully in bloom.

“I will see to it that the seeds you’ve sewn are properly tended.”

He breaks silent, anticipatory reminiscence with a promise.

Igeyorhm gives him a sideways glance and a tight smile graces her painted lips – a curious Spoken vanity she continues to indulge in.

She turns fully to Lahabrea.  “I’ve no doubt you will serve to the best of your abilities.  As will I, for Him –“  Igeyorhm’s intentions are clear as light wisps of breath tease uncovered flesh.  “- and for you.”

With boldness only Igeyorhm dares show, her arm encircles his waist; like her fingers twining between his, Igeyorhm always grasps opportunity when she sees it.

“We’ll not have the chance later.” She convincingly silences Lahabrea’s protests with a finger to his lips, holding him so near that chills course his flesh.

It is unlike her to show such open affection and yet there is such nostalgia in these ruins that Lahabrea cannot but entertain Igeyorhm’s whims.

“It has been far too long.” He admits as he permits her to lower his hood; Igeyorhm revels in her small victory by drawing her face near and running her fingers through wind-blown hair.

His mask might well be vermin for all the dismissive care she removes it with.

Her scent is as Lahabrea remembers, her touch as restrained; she rests against him, the surrounding accursed star blurring, buried beneath her cool stillness.

Aether rages unmitigated as Igeyorhm’s fingers play at the back of his scalp, her low murmurs entirely imperceptible below the roar within.

Provoking reactions with such ease - she is unlike any other.

“You still wear it.” Igeyorhm draws away and shatters the brief illusion; her fingers play at the small braid Lahabrea habitually ties behind his ear, the growing tilt of her lips betraying her satisfaction at the revelation.

It serves no purpose, not even as decoration, but Lahabrea continues to bear the nonintrusive mark only because she favors it.

“You’re quite proficient.” She admires the braid, knowing better than to question his skill.

A pointless diversion; Lahabrea returns Igeyorhm to her rightful place in his arms, so that his essence surrounds her as hers envelops him.

“Reign your impatience.” Igeyorhm scolds in that way of hers, her fingers deftly loosing the bind and brushing free strands together with her fingertips before drawing them back anew.

As Igeyorhm’s fingers tangle through smooth hair, a more subtle smile plays at her lips and the harshness that characterizes her features softens; Lahabrea doubts she even realizes he has such an effect on her.

It is a vulnerability she shows only Lahabrea.

Igeyorhm is all but a siren, the rhythmic tugging of plaits her soothing call, luring Lahabrea into passiveness within her clutches.

It is a gift only he only gives Igeyorhm.

Lower she pulls at his hair and, with confident ease, the ends are woven together and tied, much like her aether and his.

“That will suffice.” Igeyorhm shatters ephemeral serenity before she draws away slowly, hesitant to break the completeness touch brings, of shared breaths and undefinable essence.

“That it will.” He agrees as she returns his mask to its proper place.

As Lahabrea readies for his role, so too does Igeyorhm harden, an impenetrable barrier smothering what little warmth she hides.

“There is much for us to do.” She declares, obscuring her features with her hood, the only remaining evidence of their brief intimacy the intricate, newly tied braid that rests behind his ear, hidden from sight.

Lahabrea needs no fond reminiscence or regret at her withdrawal; they will continue later, once this land brings about the Rejoining.

The stage is set.

With Igeyorhm by his side, success is certain.


	5. Martyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lahabrea approaches Igeyorhm with a proposition after her failure to properly Rejoin her fragment. Pre-game, pre-relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lore book has some very interesting information about Igeyorhm and why she is with Lahabrea.
> 
> So here's an interpretation of it.

Imperceptible behind the strands of loose hair that fall before her eyes, the effigy’s silent judgement bears heavily upon Igeyorhm; it sears itself through her veins and taints her essence, rendering her inert in reverent, self-imposed prostration.

He offers no answers; she deserves none.

In flawlessness Igeyorhm of the Thirteenth falls; even the finest metals shatter when too strongly tempered.

One cannot Rejoin emptiness - and void is Igeyorhm’s sole legacy, her duty eternally unfulfilled.

The time, effort, plans – meaningless. She has cost Him more than He has gained.

Igeyorhm lowers her head further, undeserving of looking upon the visage of her master.

“A broken tool is of little use; one that destroys all it touches even less.”

An unwelcome sneer disrupts somber placidity, harsh and holding as much loathing as Mitron’s chastisement.

She knows the source – she would be a fool not to - and Igeyorhm suffers his presence with what little of her dignity remains: the barest tilt of her head in acknowledgement.

Lahabrea’s shows no restraint in his barbed words, but his criticisms wash futilely over her; Igeyorhm knows her failures more intimately than the others ever will.

“Is it by His command that you wallow about? Or is this your will?”

To regard her with such pretentiousness – she barely fathoms the depths of his arrogance.

Only her master is permitted such judgement.

Igeyorhm lifts her head to meet Lahabrea's gaze, her reverence intended only for her master.

“I have completed my role.  The same cannot be said of you.” If Lahabrea thinks her cowed, he will soon learn of his folly. “Speak your purpose, Lahabrea. See to it and be on your way.”

His lips tilt in satisfaction as he nods with unfathomable reserve. “Even misinterpreting His will, you have succeeded above all others.”

To offer praise after such hostility - paradoxical.

Though, with what she knows of him, perhaps ‘tis not so unexpected.

Lahabrea's is a familiar path, its end she alone has succeeded in reaching. 

It mustn’t happen again.  There must be true Rejoining.

“Lord Zodiark still has need of your skill.” He circles with unexpected haste, a predator to its prey, and blocks the view of His statue, shattering the scarce remains of reverent meditation. “If you are shamed into cowardice, I will leave you to your pitiful state – but if you seek atonement, to right the wrongs you have brought upon our cause –“

Lahabrea kneels and lifts her mask from the floor. Holding it before her, never once yields his position of power.

“Join me. Grant me the skill that effortlessly claimed the 13th so that we bring final Ardor to the Source.”

To ask such a thing of any of His chosen -

Igeyorhm scarcely believes he dares.

To request she put aside her pride - to submit to Lahabrea’s authority - is madness.

She is not so broken that she would willingly leave her position to become another’s subordinate.

And yet –

There is naught else. Serving below one who should be equal is preferable to serving none at all.

Igeyorhm’s fingers tighten around Lahabrea’s offering.

For redemption, so that her mistake shan’t be repeated –

Familiar, comforting red leather envelops her features.

She will submit so that He need not.


End file.
